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Texas Agriculture Archive

January 17, 2003

Squirrels have been driving Mel crazy, romping on the roof, gnawing on his plants, sneaking into the attic to wreak havoc...

"They wudn't last long if ol' Buckshot wuz still a kickin'," my husband boasted.

"Who's Bloodshot, one of your relatives?"

"BUCKshot," he bellowed, rolling his eyes, "An' he wuz th' best dawgone squirrel dawg ever wuz. 'At wuz back in the days b'fore they dumbed down dawgs like they have some people I know..."

"What breed of dog was he?"

"Jist a small, long-haired terrier lookin' dawg. White with brown specks on him and a brown stripe down his face. Cute li'l dawg." My husband settled into his recliner while I sipped coffee. "Me'n Roy Lee an' some o' the other boys wud take 'at dawg down't the creek on a cold mornin' an' he'd go plumb wild."

"Roy Lee always seemed the calm type to me..."

"Not him...BUCKshot!" Mel snapped. "'Em squirrels wud be a barkin' an' jumpin' from tree to tree...scamperin' all over Gawd's creation. We'd chase after him an' try our best to keep warm..."

Why didn't you squirrel hunt in the summer when it was warm?"

"Daddy always taught us you don't hunt squirrels 'cept in months that's got a `r' in 'em," he explained. "At's when thur raisin' thur younguns. Anyhow, Buckshot wud lead th' way with us boys close behind with our sling shots. He'd tree a squirrel an' signal us."

"What do you mean 'signal' you?"

"When Buckshot wud put one paw midway up the trunk, we knew to look fer a squirrel 'bout halfway up. Then he might put both paws up high, meanin' thur wuz a couple o' squirrels at the top. Sure 'nough, we'd look an' thur wud be. Then he'd put his chin down on the ground, sniff and put his paws over his eyes, which meant he cud smell two squirrels in the tree, but he couldn't see whur they wuz. When we'd be under a big canopy of trees, he'd roll over on his back and stick all four paws in the air, which meant thur wuz four squirrels at 12 o'clock."

Mel hooted. "We'd knock 'em squirrels to the ground with a single hit an' Ol' Buckshot wud retrieve 'em for us. Ever once't in awhile, a squirrel wud hole up in the tree trunk an' we'd git us a li'l piece o' bob wahr an' stick it in an' twist it so it's tail wud git tangled up an' we'd jerk it out."

"Did you fry the squirrels?"

"Nope. Mama wud always fix a mess o' squirrel an' dumplins'. Went futher thataway. I remember one time I dipped me up a heapin' bowl o' dumplins' when all at once't Daddy commenced to hollerin' fer one of us kids to come outside an' help him ketch a calf that got out. I dropped my bowl an' took off runnin'. We corraled the calf. I started back towards the house an' thur wuz Ol' Buckshot settin' on the front porch Indian-style with a squirrel pelt in his mouth."

"What was he trying to tell you?"

"Plain as the nose on yore face. He wuz warnin' me that Mama wuz on the warpath over my spilt dumplins' an' wuz gonna skin me alive!"